debris' face tastes of sister flickers
it's 900 degrees the breeze is a jagged mess
we're some lump thing in the throat of jog
we've played our errors out in a chaplin cabin
eating vertigo'd boots all stoned on commotion
she's like
pass the emoting lotion honey
show some that sort of motion you used toand i'm
the skyline thing is rolling can't
you see it too this is blue should we frolick
how long does anything matter depends on who 
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